Shaky Morals
by Inherent Contradictions
Summary: G/D, with a little bit of confusion, machiavellianism, and heroism thrown in. What would happen if Ginny wanted to join the Dark Lord? Mild slash from chapter four (H/Snape)>
1. Prologue

This is just the prologue of a story I have been considering for some time, and my first time at writing Harry Potter fanfiction. It will be G/D, with a little bit of confusion, machiavellianism, and heroism thrown in.  
  
I am not in any way attempting to assert ownership over the work of JK Rowling. The Potterverse is hers in its entirety, and no-one is more grateful than I.  
  
  
  
It was impossible to truly anticipate the level of stupidity of a recent Hogwarts graduate who was also a redhead and a Weasley.  
  
Or, at least, so thought Draco Malfoy, as he stared in utter shock at the woman standing before him, his jaw dropping - rather inelegantly - with stupefaction.  
  
"You are interested in what, Weasley?"  
  
Ginny huffed. She had truly thought it was rather obvious. She had been as clear as she could be, after all, and didn't really she how Malfoy could have misunderstood her. She frowned, a little furrow appearing in her forehead.  
  
"Are you deaf, Malfoy, or just stupid? I said I was interested in working for the Dark Lord."  
  
Draco's cold grey eyes narrowed, and he began tapping one elegantly shod foot upon the marble entranceway of Malfoy's Magical Merchandising, the home of a plethora of top-selling products such as the Nimbus broom series, and Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans.  
  
"Of course I heard you, Weasley. However, strangely enough, I didn't believe you were serious. Even you couldn't be that stupid."  
  
Ginny's face flooded with colour, but Draco could have sworn he saw laughter in those eyes, along with a healthy (and most gratifying) dose of embarrassment, indignation, and fear.  
  
Something was definitely going on.  
  
Ginny began to speak.  
  
"I may not be ideal Death Eater material, Malfoy, but there's no need to make fun of me. I refuse to be ridiculed by some little closed-minded prat who pretends that he can't understand plain English. I've had enough of being made fun of - eighteen years with six brothers have made me immune to teasing. However, despite their juvenile natures, they have taught me a variety of useful skills, one of which will lead to me plowing a fist into that pretty face of yours unless you are very careful. You heard what I said. I meant it."  
  
Draco raised a single eyebrow, rather impressed. Who would have guessed the littlest Weasley had such anger in her? It certainly didn't show.  
  
She had always been so sweet, so trusting, so naively innocent.  
  
Rather delicious, really, from the point of view of a young man so jaded that he no longer dared even to hope.  
  
But his image of her certainly didn't fit with her current request. For how could such a girl ever actually desire to support the Dark rather than the Light?  
  
It would mean turning against her heritage.  
  
Turning against her entire family.  
  
Turning against everything she had ever been taught, in favour of something she could not know, something she had never known, something, until now, that Draco had assumed (or would have, had he thought of it) that she never would know.  
  
It was horrfying.  
  
It was ridiculous.  
  
And yet, strangely compelling.  
  
Draco smiled.  
  
"Step aside, Weasley. If we are having this conversation, there are better places to have it." A contemptuous glance was thrown at the Triple M employees scurrying around the reception, their gazes consciously lowered to the floor, averted from the spectacle of the son of their employer having what appeared to be quite a heated conversation with a strange woman.  
  
Cowards? . . . or sheep?  
  
Draco was undecided on that one.  
  
It was always possible that they were in fact both.  
  
Draco did not believe in making the mistake of overestimating anyone - you were only liable to be disappointed if you did.  
  
Draco did not brook disappointment.  
  
And yet, as he led the way to his office, his heels clicking smartly and with purpose once more upon the marble floors, he found himself unable to completely restrain the vague and disquieting sense of something that appeared to be exactly that.  
  
Disappointment.  
  
He had almost forgotten what it felt like.  
  
  
  
  
  
I am aware that Triple M as a company nickname bears an uncomfortable resemblance to 3M (Post-Its). No copyright infringement is intended.  
  
If you like this story, please review. 


	2. Revelation

Wow!  800 words of a prologue, and already I am on somebody's favourites!  How hugely flattering!

Thank you Skull Bearer and WittchWay for your encouraging reviews, and I hope you enjoy the first chapter.

Ginny's eyes flickered around the room, a room that was bright and covered in gaudy Christmas decorations.  The kitchen at the Burrow was, in actuality, larger than it appeared at this moment – but any room would seem small when filled to its utmost capacity by seven grown men and a small whirlwind.

The whirlwind in question was chattering to Ginny.  Molly Weasley had been worried when, upon her youngest child's graduation from Hogwarts, Ginny had been unable to find a job.  It wasn't as if Ginny was unintelligent – she had in fact been one of the top students of her year – but nor was she simply being choosy.

It seemed that there was just nothing there that was right.

Molly was certain, however, that the perfect job would finally appear, and then Ginny would be set for life.

After all, she already had everything else she needed.

A loving family.

Supportive friends.

Harry Potter to marry.

Quidditch in the weekends.

It was the perfect life, as far as Molly could see.

Ginny was perhaps less certain about how suited she was to perfection.__

Draco had leaned in to speak to Ginny, his eyes still wary, although his manner was certainly more open than it had been only five minutes ago.

_"When you say that you want to work for the Dark Lord, Weasley, what exactly do you mean?"_

It wasn't that Ginny didn't appreciate her life, she did.  It was simply that it didn't feel right.  There was supposed to be something more.

She just didn't know what.__

Memories of Ginny's first year at school flooded her as she considered Malfoy's question.

_She remembered the feeling of horror at what she was doing._

She remembered the power that had welled through her, power that was not hers.

_She remembered the loss of control._

_She remembered the ecstasy of the moments when she had been nothing but a vessel for dark magic._

Ginny answered the question 

_"I mean, Malfoy, that I want to join his cause.  I know what he is capable of.  I want to feel it.  I am not my brothers, Malfoy, nor am I my parents.  I control my own destiny, and this is what I choose."_

Ginny interrupted her mother's soliloquy on how hard Arthur was working at the moment, and how well all the boys were doing – even the twins, with their joke shop.

"Mum, I've got a job."

Molly halted immediately, looking at Ginny uncomprehendingly for a second before a wide smile emerged.

"That's wonderful, dear!  When did this happen?  Where will you be working?"

The excitement in her voice aroused some interest from the Weasley men, who, up until now, had been surreptitiously testing a few of Fred and George's less dangerous jokes.  Ron looked up, red and gold glitter clinging to his face and gilding his eyebrows and lashes.

"What was that?  Has Ginny got a job, Mum?"

With all the male faces now turned enquiringly in her direction, Ginny nodded.

"I have to admit, Weasley, that I am not entirely certain of your sincerity in this matter."

_Draco was perhaps not telling the absolute truth when he said this – not that he often did.  It wasn't so much that he didn't believe her; after her earlier statement, after seeing the expression on her face and in his eyes, he had no option but to believe that Ginny truly was interested in joining forces against everything she had ever been taught to revere._

_Then again, perhaps that had been evident from the outset.  After all, any Weasley would need a very good reason to approach a Malfoy for help._

_But this was Ginny, and much as the desire had always seemed alien – wrong - to him, Draco had always hoped that she was exactly as, before that day, she had appeared._

_He set that realisation aside to be dealt with at a later date._

"So instead of welcoming you willy-nilly into the fold, my dear," Draco's voice was sardonic as he uttered the words. "I will allow you an apprenticeship."

Everybody in the kitchen was staring at Ginny with interest.

"Well, I start in two weeks, and it sounds really interesting," she began, knowing this was going to be difficult, if not downright impossible, to explain.

Over the last four and a half years, Voldemort had come to full power, and nobody appeared capable of bringing him down.  Harry, of course, being Harry, had come very close on numerous occasions, but never any more than close.  He _had_ managed, however, to uncover Wormtail and prove Sirius' innocence during one of the attempts.

Luckily for Ginny, as, had Harry been at the Burrow instead of at Black Manor with Sirius and Remus, she would have had one more person to worry about telling.

The faces turned toward Ginny began to look impatient as she paused.

She took a deep breath.

"I am working as a personal assistant to the vice president at Malfoy's Magical Manufacturing."

There was utter silence.

Bill broke it.

"I think we must have misheard, Ginny."

Fred and George nodded in tandem.

"Yeah, you couldn't possibly –" Fred began.

"Be intending to work –" George continued.

"For that git!" They chorused.

Ron closed the mouth that was still hanging open as Percy gave an audibly disapproving sniff.

"Ginny, we're talking about Malfoy.  Apart from the fact that we hate him, he's actually evil!"

It looked like Ron had every intention of continuing with his own little tirade when Charlie interrupted.

"Are you serious about this Ginny?"

Everyone waited with bated breath for her to answer the question.

"Yes, I am."

It was then that Arthur spoke.

"Has it really been that difficult to find a job, Ginny?" His voice was morose.  "Because you don't need to work anywhere you don't want to, you know.  Wouldn't you prefer to just keep looking?"

Ginny faced her family head-on.

"By Merlin, you are all acting as if I have been recruited to the Dark Side!  I know Malfoy is evil, but even though I will be working as his assistant" – there was a gasp here, this fact had not been entirely assimilated by the group – "I promise not to let him influence me.  It looks like a good job, and I have already agreed to take it.  Besides, nobody really knows anything about Malfoy for certain."

Ron regarded Ginny in disgust.

"Of course he's a Death Eater, Gin!  You cannot get anywhere near him!"

Ginny smiled.  "I assure you, Ron, that I both can and will, and nothing you try and tell me now will have any effect whatsoever.  I have made up my mind."

Percy, ever tactful, finally spoke.

"Besides, if it all is true, Ginny could be a useful source of information for the Ministry."

Eight faces turned to regard him with disgust.

_Ginny stared up at Draco Malfoy, a little confused.  There was determination in his face, and suddenly, for the first time, he appeared to be exactly what he was: a Death Eater who was reputedly so trusted by Voldemort, and so untroubled by moral scruples, that he had usurped his father's position in the Dark Lord's inner circle._

_His father had apparently not been pleased, but had been unable to do anything about it._

_Ginny looked, and recognised precisely what it was she was getting into._

_She nodded._

_"As you wish, Malfoy.  An apprenticeship.  I suppose I could not ask for a better teacher."_

_In the context of the conversation, the innocent, happy smile that crossed her face at that point seemed obscene._

_Draco certainly thought it was._

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	3. First Day

Thank you to everyone for reviewing, and I hope you all enjoy the third chapter.  Now that I'm getting into it, I'm going to try to make my chapters longer.

Draco's hands were not quite steady as he straightened his perfectly tailored black robes in front of the mirror.  Luckily it was too well trained to say anything more than a discreet "have a nice day, sir", before he turned away abstractedly.

It was Ginny's first day, and Draco did not know what to expect.  As he made his way towards his office, he scowled.  She was to tell people that she had started as his personal assistant, but he would not see her at all during the day unless there was something scheduled.  He had added her to the payroll, however.  It wouldn't do for his apprentice to be unavailable due to prior work commitments.  If she should be with him, she would have to apparate in with no warning.

He wondered if she would be discouraged from her course if he took to randomly summoning her: she could be useful.

There was never enough time to properly co-ordinate his wardrobe, for example.  And although shabby – Draco's aristocratic nose twitched at the thought, as if it had detected some nonexistent stench – her clothes had been well suited to her.

She had a flair for colour.

Of course, he had already known that.

Had remembered it from Hogwarts.

Even though he, being a Malfoy, had, of course, never noticed her while he was there.

Confused, and irritated by the confusion – Malfoys never harboured doubts, and always knew what to think, and what to do, and were never wrong – Draco blamed Ginny for his state.

She had done something to make him question what he was doing.

Or perhaps, more accurately, exactly why he was doing it.

By mid afternoon Draco's nerves were stretched so thin that his secretary – always nervous – decided to take the rest of the day off.

Her timing was impeccable, as Peter Pettigrew apparated rather clumsily into the reception only five minutes after she had shut the door behind her with a decided, and rather disgruntled, click.  Almost tripping as he landed in the thick carpeting that Draco abhorred (it was so nice to be able to actually HEAR yourself walk), his small, beady eyes darted nervously in the direction of the empty desk.  On ascertaining that there was nobody around, he hesitantly headed toward the door to Draco's office, and nodded timidly.

"Come in," Draco barked, assuming it was Ms Smart, as he had not yet realised that she had gone.

Pettigrew pushed the door open slightly and sidled in.

Draco looked up and realised who it was.  A look of loathing crossed his face.

"Wormtail."

Peter squeaked.

The burden of the conversation falling on him once more, Draco sighed.  "And what brings you here?" he queried, in an exaggeratedly patient tone.

For a second, Pettigrew appeared enraged – Draco perked up at that – but it retreated quickly.  He finally began to speak.

"Our Lord requires you.  I am to take you to him."

"Ah.  Hold on a second," holding up a hand to fend off any advance Wormtail might feel it was prudent to make – Voldemort did not like waiting, and might blame him for the delay – Draco reached for his wand, and then performed the prearranged summoning spell he and Ginny had agreed upon.

She apparated right into the room only five seconds later, clad in a short, green robe, with silver trimming.

She glared at him.

"Was this necessary right now?  I was trying on dresses for Ron's wedding.  If I take too long, I'm pretty certain they'll notice that I am no longer in the changing room."

Draco looked at her appreciatively, quickly masking his expression with indifference.

"You signed up for this, Weasley.  What did you expect?"

The question was rhetorical.

Draco turned toward Pettigrew.

"Weasley, here, is my apprentice.  I don't think she's ready to meet our Lord, but she should see what goes on.  When we get there, put her somewhere where she will go unnoticed."

A strange expression came into Wormtail's eyes, but was suppressed as soon as it arrived, much as the anger from earlier had been.

Could it have been pity?

Or disgust?

Ginny was settled into a small room from which she could both hear and, with the help of a small peep hole, see exactly what was going on between Voldemort and his Death Eaters.

Draco left to join the gathering.

Voldemort was in full force when he arrived with Pettigrew by his side.  He had obviously got bored waiting for Draco, and had decided to entertain himself.

The muggle being used for the entertainment did not look pleased.

In fact, Draco thought, he looked rather dead.

Voldemort looked up as Draco approached, and his serpentine eyes lit up – inasmuch as they were capable of doing so.  He released the muggle, who crashed bonelessly to the floor.  Draco winced inwardly: it might not be quite dead.

"Ahhh . . . Draco."

Draco prostrated himself beside Pettigrew, as was expected, but not before noticing that in the cluster of black-robed figures beside his master were Crabbe and Goyle with their fathers, his own father, and Severus Snape.

"We have heard some rather disturbing news, Draco."

Draco did not rise, instead waiting for an acknowledgement and leave to do so.

"Yes, yes, rise and speak with me, young Malfoy."

Draco did so, asking as he did "and what was this disturbing news, my Lord?"

Voldemort's eyes narrowed.  "Severus has informed me that Dumbledore has a spy among us."

Draco's eyes flashed to the potions master, questioning.

The black gaze that met his was unfathomable.

What was going on?  Why had Snape said anything?

Voldemort continued.  "Unfortunately, he does not know for certain who it is," at this, red eyes flickered over to eye the Crabbes and Goyles, "although he has his suspicions.  You must be wary of trusting anyone."

Draco did not respond to this, instead raising one perfectly shaped, platinum eyebrow.

Voldemort gave something vaguely approximating a laugh.

"But, of course, you never do, do you, young Malfoy?"  The tone was approving.

"You may go."

And with that, Voldemort turned back to the muggle, glee in his eyes.

Snape broke away from the group to follow Draco from the room.  When they were out, Draco turned on him.

"WHAT WAS THAT?  What did you think you were DOING?  A spy?"

Snape considered Draco with disapproval.

"Of course there has to be a spy, Malfoy.  There are always spies, Voldemort expects it.  And he expects me to tell him of them.  If I start the rumours, they are contained."

"So that is why he was eyeing Crabbe and Goyle?  Will they be the next 'spies'?"

Snape smiled.

It was not a happy smile.

"I was leaning in that direction.  Really, they have so few brains, the world would not miss either of them.  Plus, just think how flattered our Lord would be to think that the only followers Dumbledore can marshal are those too stupid to know any better."

Draco shot an approving look at Snape.  It was always useful to flatter Voldemort.  It made him (somewhat) more amenable, and certainly less paranoid.

It was a very important skill for any fake-Death-Eater-who-was-actually-spying-for-the-forces-of-good to have.

"Fine.  I leave the rumour-mongering in your hands, as you seem so fond of it.  At least it will divert attention away from both of us."

And with that, Draco turned on his heel and headed to Ginny, his robes swirling.

Snape wasn't telling him something.

She looked good in Slytherin colours.

There she was, staring avidly through the peep-hole, still clad in those ornate silk dress-robes, so involved that she did not even look up when he came into the room.  He had to tap her on the shoulder.

Even then, it took a second for her to turn away from the spectacle.  Apparently the first muggle had finally expired: there were now two, a woman and a little boy.  The boy was clutching the woman by the hand, his eyes wide and scared.

A family, Draco thought remotely, was dying today.

Ginny's eyes were filled with a strange excitement, and her smile was wild.

He led her from the room.

She was clearly ready to be initiated.

And it would certainly reflect well upon him in Voldemort's eyes.

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Next chapter: Ginny's reaction to this experience.  Is she really dark, or just pretending?


	4. Unusual situations

WARNING: There is some (very slight) slash in this chapter – not graphic, more in the nature of an established relationship.  If you do not want to read it, do not do so.

I want to thank everyone who has reviewed : Stymied, Cariel (I love your story!), Ilwinterhofal (thank you for reviewing every chapter – it's so encouraging – and I think you will like this chapter), Lady Lestrange (I agree – snivelling Draco = SO annoying!), Skull Bearer, The Blue Flying Lunch Box, Pseudonym sylphmuse, Gwen, Whitefeather, and Wittchway.

Ginny vomited once more into the toilet bowl, even though by now her stomach was completely empty.  Gentle hands held back her hair, rubbed her back.  She leaned into the caress, sighing heavily.

"More difficult than you expected, Ginny?"

The quiet question sparked some emotion from the exhausted girl, and she stiffened beneath the soothing hands.

"I can do it, Harry!"

Harry smiled sadly.  "I know you can, Gin.  You just shouldn't have to."

Ginny turned to face the young man.  "It's not a matter of HAVING to, Harry.  I know that, even now, I don't actually HAVE to do anything.  But I want to help, and this is the best way I know how.  I need to be useful, just like you are, like Ron, and Hermione, and even Professor Snape."

Harry's face changed, its utter gravity melding into something approximating amusement.

"You can call him Severus now, Ginny.  He likes you, you know."

Ginny shuddered.

"He's still a teacher in my mind, Harry – MY teacher.  I'm sorry if six months out of school isn't enough to erase the terror that was Snape, Potions Master, and all-around . . . scary person!"

"Well worded, Miss Weasley."  A dry voice emerged from the bathroom door, and Ginny turned in horror to see Severus Snape, unusually haggard – even for him – coming into the room.  She immediately grabbed for her toothbrush.  Vomit breath around Harry was one thing, but Snape?  How embarrassing.

Harry leapt to his feet in a second, concern in his eyes and Ginny forgotten on the floor.

"Severus!  Was it bad?  How are you feeling?"

Snape thrust Harry off him with a querulous, although gentle, hand.

"I'm fine, Harry.  No ill-effects in the slightest.  He was preoccupied by Crabbe and Goyle."  A rather vicious smile twisted the Potion Master's face.

Harry rolled his eyes, relieved and rather amused by the enjoyment Severus was obviously deriving from his trick.  The time for niceties in this war was past, and Harry could not spare the time to care about Crabbe and Goyle being their scapegoats.  Any casualties were acceptable, as long as they were not from among HIS allies.

And, after all, a vicious Severus was a normal Severus.  Harry was used to that by now, and had accepted that the man be loved would not change in character just because he was now living with Harry Potter, the icon and leader of the forces against Voldemort.

Especially as the relationship was hardly one anybody could really publicise.  As far as the world was concerned, Severus Snape was still living at Hogwarts year round.

He would be for the foreseeable future.

So, instead of fussing – which would make Harry feel like Mrs Weasley and irritate Snape no end – Harry moved away from his lover, and towards his friend, huddled on the floor still brushing her teeth.

Severus looked toward her as Harry gently helped her to her feet, and his eyes softened.  As much as he had found the vast majority of the Weasleys annoying little buggers when he had been teaching them, he could not help but like this youngest.

She was so fragile, so innocent, and yet so strong.

Severus respected strength.

So, as Ginny stood, supported by Harry, looking limp and weak, he moved to her other side and grasped her arm, and, together, he and Harry helped her to the large couch in the living area.

Severus looked at Harry, and indicated with his head for Harry to leave.

Harry did so.

Snape sank down beside Ginny on the sofa.  She was staring blankly ahead, her eyes empty, completely still.  It was as if, if she tried to move in the slightest bit, she would break into a million pieces.

Just shatter.

Ginny's air of fragility may have been deceptive, but then again, so was her strength.  She was just a normal almost nineteen-year-old girl, and she was doing something so daring few men would risk it, something so courageous, and yet, so unrecognised, that she could only being doing it because her sense of morality was so unyielding that inaction would have seemed like the betrayal of all she held dear.

While he would never tell her, Ginny was Snape's definition of heroism.

She wasn't like all the others: himself, Harry, Draco, even Ron or Hermione, who had all had their parts in the war dictated by circumstance.  Ginny had chosen to participate.

And this was the result.

Ginny was a brilliant actress, but only to others.  She could not lie to herself, and seeing what she had seen, and not being able to do anything about it, was like anathema to her.

Today – that Muggle family – must have been a harsh lesson indeed about what was expected of her.

Snape had not seen her, and Draco had not informed him yet of his new "apprentice" – no doubt the information would be vouchsafed at the meeting they had scheduled for next week.  But Snape, who had been aware of Harry's intention of gaining another source among Voldemort's followers, and privy to Ginny's involvement, had known exactly what was going on, even if he had not vouchsafed that knowledge to Draco by so much as the flicker of an eyelid.

After all, Snape was a true Slytherin, and as immune to the calling of truth and honesty and openness as the rest of the breed.

Draco and Ginny were not to know of each other's loyalties.  Only Snape, Harry, and Dumbledore really knew what was going on, and Snape was not entirely certain that even all of them should know.

Theoretically the lack of knowledge would serve as a safeguard.

If either one of the two of them were found out, they would not be ABLE to tell Voldemort of the existence of the other.  Indeed, they would be fully capable of swearing – under Snape's own Veritaserum, if necessary – that the other was exactly as dark as they purported to be.

Snape's Slytherin mind thought this theory was brilliant – even if it had been thought up by a Gryffindor.  But Harry was, after all, Snape's own mate, and this made up for some of his deficiencies.

He had a decidedly machiavellian turn of mind.

Snape liked that in a man.

He did not, however, like the result of Harry's scheming, as it sat unmoving on the sofa.  Ginny's body was radiating cold, and the only sign of life was the ragged breathing that betrayed her state of mind.

Snape turned, and grasped her chin with firm, not unkind fingers.

Her eyes avoided his.

"Look at me, Ginny."

It was a resurgence of the Potions Master, and Ginny could not quell the involuntary jerk of her head toward the silkily commanding voice.  Snape's gaze bored into her, and Ginny felt naked.

"It was not your fault, Ginny."

He sounded so certain.  Ginny wished she could have his utter belief in what he was saying.

She did not.

It had been her fault.

She could have done something.

She could have stopped it.

She could, at the very least, have been a less able actor.

How could anyone who was not at least a little evil have feigned such glee?

No – Snape had to be wrong.

He did not UNDERSTAND.

His eyes were still on hers, hard, cold, black, assessing.

"Think, Ginny.  What could you have done?"

Ginny began to shudder, and was oblivious to a reassuring, if uncertain hand rubbing at her spine as he had seen his lover do only moments earlier.

He was right.

What could she have done?

She began to cry – aching, broken-hearted sobs that wracked her whole body.  She reached out blindly.

Snape responded, enfolding her in his warm embrace, a little stiff, certainly uncertain, but comforting.

Nobody should be left alone after their first Death Eater meeting.

Not the way he had been.

Harry cautiously began to open the door.  He did not want to interrupt whatever it was Severus was doing for Ginny.  After all, he, better than anyone else, would know how to help somebody in her position.

Emboldened by the lack of protest, Harry ventured to put his head inside the room, and found something he had not expected.

Little, redheaded Ginny Weasley, with decided tear tracks marking her pale face, was asleep, a look of peace on her tired face, wrapped in Severus Snape's arms, and the man was soothingly stroking her back even as she slept.

His expression became masked as he turned to face the intruder.

"She fell asleep."

Harry's lips twitched.

Severus sounded defensive.

"I see."

Miles away, in the tower room of an old, magnificent, yet forbidding castle that for some reason was never sighted by tourists – or even inhabitants of the nearby towns or dwellings – a young man sat, his platinum hair atypically rumpled.

In his hands was a school yearbook, open to a page upon which a small group of girls could be seen giggling behind their hands as their tall, dark, and aquiline featured teacher directed his chalk across the blackboard.

Suddenly, the teacher could be seen tuning and scowling forbiddingly at the group, his mouth open as if to say something cutting  - as only Snape could be cutting.

One of the girls, a small, freckle-faced redhead, smiled.

She was radiant.

The teacher smiled unwillingly back.

The man watching this little scene frowned.

What had happened to Ginny Weasley?

SO – What do you think?

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	5. Attending Church

Anyone who was reading this before, you have letylyf to thank for me continuing.  I was writing another story, and feeling hugely guilty about stalling in this one, and those two new reviews just pushed me into doing something!  I'm still not entirely certain where this story is going, although I have a general idea.  Hopefully it will even out.

This chapter is rather dark (another reason for my procrastination: I do not write dark), so be prepared.  Bear in mind it pretty much had to be: Ginny had to meet Voldemort eventually.

Draco smoothed his immaculate black robes, twitching the folds into perfect order.  He then turned his eyes to the silent woman standing next to him.

"So, Weasley.  As you no doubt realise, it is time for you to meet our Lord."

Ginny nodded, her face inscrutable.

Draco couldn't help being rather impressed.  She appeared to be adept at hiding emotion, always a good trait.

"Make certain you afford him the proper respect."

That was all that really needed to be said, in Draco's opinion.  It was impossible to truly anticipate anything Voldemort said, did, or thought, and he and Snape had put a great deal of effort into the attempt.

They had tried to make a proper science of it: looking for indicators, symptoms, facial tics, wand movement – anything and everything that was habitual and might be used to read what Voldemort's likely next course of action would be.

Unfortunately, he had proven to be a rather unstable subject.  Either he had no consistency in action, or the Dark Lord was completely deranged.

Of course, both Draco and Snape had always been convinced that the latter theory was true.  And, after all, complete insanity was in this case accompanied by complete paranoia, which was sure to encourage irrational and unpredictable behaviour simply as a safety mechanism.

It was not safe for Voldemort to be consistent, and one thing that COULD be taken for granted about the – man? – was that he was brilliant.

He had to know that it was his very lack of consistency that encouraged such avid devotion in his followers.

Such utter and complete fear.

The moment Voldemort lost his element of surprise and became predictable was the moment he would be defeated, and he knew it perhaps better than anyone.

Draco had been told by someone – he wasn't certain who, and their identity was absurdly unimportant, anyway – that the difference between a psychopath and a sociopath was that a psychopath did not know the difference between right and wrong, and a sociopath didn't care.

Whether this was an accurate interpretation or not, it was something that always came to mind every time Draco was in, or about to be in, the presence of the Dark Lord.  He thought it was because he could never entirely decide which term could be used as a more apt descriptor of the man who seemed determined to destroy the fabric of the wizarding world.

Voldemort certainly didn't appear to know the difference between right and wrong – or at least, if he did, it was according to a completely different conception of what 'right' and 'wrong' actually meant.  But on the other hand, he didn't care particularly either way.

He was not immoral, nor entirely amoral.  He believed in certain virtues, and worked to promote them – it was simply that these virtues were not ones that most would recognise at such, or consider worthy of protection.

And certainly not when the meaning of 'protection' was actually 'attack anything that might conceivably ever threaten what I want'.

The thing about Voldemort was that he could not be made sense of.  His entire view of life, of the world, of magic, history, humanity, and possibility was so utterly and completely skewed from reality and common morality that he actually believed his aim WAS moral, right, and just.

At least for those people – or more accurately, that person – who mattered.

As Draco grasped Ginny's impatient hand, ignoring the roll of her eyes that indicated her desire to hurry, he couldn't prevent a rather sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Something was wrong about what was about to happen.

He knew it.

And it had something to do with Ginny Weasley.

He hoped she was ready for what she was about to encounter.

They apparated to a small clearing around which ancient oaks towered to the sky.  This place was so old, it appeared timeless, and the stench of evil lay heavily, so pervasive and strong that Ginny could almost hear the screams of people being tortured.

She suppressed a shudder, her nervous body already so tightly drawn that she was surprised she could still stand upright.

Darting a surreptitious glance at her companion to ascertain whether he had noticed her slip, she was relieved to see his attention focused on the doorway to an old muggle church a couple of hundred yards distant.  Without looking at her, he began to move toward it, his stride reminding her of Snape at his most intimidating.

It was this memory that finally enabled Ginny to calm herself.

Snape was counting on her.

Harry was counting on her.

What she was about to try and do was important, and it could save the world.

She had to do it to the best of her ability.

And, of course, as a final motivator, it was also important to remember that if she did it wrong, she was - pretty much without doubt - dead.

When Draco turned to her, feet from the stone church that seemed so out of place, there was nothing in Ginny's expression to betray the thoughts that had been swirling in her head for the past several minutes.  He gave a curt nod, and pushed the door open.

Ginny's moment had come, and she would succeed.

She entered the church behind Draco, head held high.

And almost choked on the pervasive evil that seemed to emanate in thick waves from the red-eyed, serpentine figure seated at a throne seat up where the altar had clearly once been.

Voldemort did not look up immediately, his attention more taken by the figure cowering at his feet.  Ginny recognised it as Peter Pettigrew.

"But, Master, I have served you well!"

"It was in your interest.  Had you been able, no doubt you would have preferred to slither back to your old friends."

"No, my Lord!  I am loyal!"

"You never had much of a choice, did you?"  Even Voldemort appeared disgusted by the degree to which Pettigrew was prepared to grovel, as the man wailed, and sank to the ground in front of his master.  A large snake unfurled from where it rested next to Voldemort, and wended its way to the prostrate Death Eater, who did not rise, but was clearly attempting to edge away as far as possible from the creature while still maintaining his servile position.  Voldemort watched in detached amusement as the reptilian head bent toward the now whimpering Pettigrew, and flicked its tongue out, touching it to the plump man's cheek, licking away a frightened tear.

Voldemort's smile was cruel.

"Nagini can smell the rat, Peter.  She eats rats."

Ginny was seized with a certain revolted amusement at that comment.  If it were not for the severity of the situation she was in, she might well have giggled.

And after all, Scabbers had never been a particularly GOOD rat.  She certainly didn't care if he got eaten by some oversized snake with delusions of grandeur.

Pettigrew still did not move.

"You cannot trust a Gryffindor."

It was then that Voldemort looked up to see Draco and Ginny poised at the end of the aisle.

"Ah, Miss Weasley, I see.  You have grown."  Voldemort's eyes flicked over Ginny in an assessing manner, recognition in his unnatural eyes, completely ignoring Pettigrew's taking advantage of his Master's distraction to escape.  "Draco assures me that you are capable of overcoming the disadvantage of your house.  Are you ready to convince me of your loyalty?"

His gaze moved from them to the first pew.

It was only then that Ginny noticed the other occupants of the church.

Four children: one girl, three boys, all with bright red hair.

Hundreds of miles away at Godric's Hollow, in a house so secluded that it might as well not be there, Harry Potter woke abruptly, images of death so fresh in his brain that for several seconds he dared not open his eyes.

Not that it made a difference to what he could still see etched in his brain.

He knew exactly what had just happened, was still happening, and maybe he was responsible.

He had sent Ginny into that.  For that his responsibility was clear.

And even now he could not bring himself to regret it.

It was this realisation that was the most disturbing to him.

When had he come to believe that the ends really did justify the means?

If this war was one of ideology, of morality, of protection of all that was good and innocent, did this mean that they had already lost?

Harry's eyes were drawn to the man sleeping next to him, the lean body pressed against his, the eyelids fluttering slightly, the large nose wrinkling with effort as Severus, always a light sleeper, processed the change in tension of the body next to his, and began to wake.

"Wha . . . ?  Harry?  Is something wrong?"

It took only seconds, but Severus's black eyes gazed directly into Harry's bright green orbs, completely awake.

Harry smiled.

There was no point in mentioning it now.  Severus would find out later, when Ginny arrived at their house to cry.  He could help her then, but there was nothing to do now.

It would be hours before she even left that church, at the rate things had been progressing, anyway.

There was nothing that could be done.

"Nothing's wrong, Sev."

Harry smiled, and kissed his lover's nose.

"Go back to sleep."

And as the older man slipped back into slumber, Harry's eyes remained open, his concentration total, and focused on something he could no longer see.

Voldemort might have forced the world to stoop to his level, but he was not going to win.

Harry would make sure of that.

And in the meantime, he would wait for the arrival of the friend he had sent into a direct confrontation with evil.


End file.
